


Rescue Number Five

by Gumnut



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, collapse, heatstroke, very little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 15:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20438273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gumnut/pseuds/Gumnut
Summary: He just wanted ice cream.





	Rescue Number Five

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Rescue Number Five  
Author: Gumnut  
28 - 29 Aug 2019  
Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS  
Rating: Teen  
Summary: He just wanted ice cream.  
Word count: 2741  
Spoilers & warnings: Plotless Virgil whump, I’m sorry :D  
Timeline: Standalone  
Author’s note: This is for @melmac78 for her birfday and for inadvertently inspiring it with this comment regarding my brain fry of late – ‘no need to collapse for it... save the fainting bit for Virgil stories. 😊’ Many thanks to @vegetacide for adding the ice cream to this and also for her wonderful support while I sob all over fandom with my woes :D (In fact, you’ve all been lovely regarding my whimpering, thank you ever so much for being such a wonderful fandom to play in). The only downside is that this fic reflects my current lack of brain and is little more than a scene with very little purpose other than to play with the above two prompt points :D I hope you enjoy it anyway.  
Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

Rescue number five.

In twelve hours.

Non-stop.

Thunderbird Two hovered above a parkland in the middle of a city, right next to a stadium.

It was hot. The middle of the Australian summer. Midday.

The stadium was on fire.

A eucalypt stood at the entrance, its leaves alight and burning fiercely. The local MFS were well into the conflagration, but there was a serviceman stranded high up in one of the huge lights far above the grandstand.

That was why he was here.

Scott was on his way over. He wasn’t really needed, but he had ranted about those last twelve hours and claimed Virgil needed back up.

Virgil needed sleep.

He was hot, sweaty and he stunk. Hot weather was the theme for the southern hemisphere and today’s array of rescues. One on each major southern continent, bar Antarctica, one in New Zealand, just for a little backyard fun and this was the second one in Australia. Good old burn your ass off Australian summer, now thirty percent hotter thanks to climate change.

Antarctica was looking more attractive by the second.

But then give that continent another fifty years of that climate change and it might be positively balmy.

But, yes, stadium, on fire.

Rescuing someone from a high point in a relatively open area was no difficulty. Virgil swung himself and a harness out underneath his beautiful ‘bird and snagged the man from his perch. No injuries. Actually, the man was quite happy. Kept babbling on about meeting International Rescue and doing a great fanboy interpretation.

Usually, Virgil would have smiled graciously and let the man babble. But today, his head was aching and, to be honest, maybe Scott was right. Maybe he did need back up.

So this fan didn’t get much of a smile, just a few polite words from a very tired man.

He must have picked up on it, because his expression became concerned as Virgil helped him unstrap the harness once they were safely aboard Two.

“You okay, man?”

“I’m good. Are you sure you are uninjured?”

The guy shrugged. “I’m fine, thanks to you. Say, can I get your autograph? You are Virgil Tracy, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah, um, I guess.”

He got a good stare for that intellectual response.

“I’m sorry, sir, it has been a long day. I will land Thunderbird Two and we can get you seen to.”

“I’m fine, Mr Tracy.” Another frown. “But I’m not sure you are. You’re looking kinda pale.”

He so didn’t have time for this. Turning away, he didn’t answer, simply leading the rescuee to the cockpit. He made sure the man was strapped in and then took Two out of her hover and banked to land in a clearing outside the stadium.

Her landing gear clunked onto the lawn as smooth as ever and his ‘bird came to a rest.

Virgil let himself sink just that little more into his seat in sympathy.

The briefest of moments and then he was up and hustling the rescuee onto the hatch and lowering it onto the grass.

As always, a crowd had gathered at the sight of the great green Thunderbird, and Virgil had to beckon over the emergency services to assist the man protesting his health.

Another moment and Virgil was free of him and raising the hatch to shut the world out.

He technically could go home now, but...stadium, on fire.

It took two hours to put it out.

By the time the last of the smouldering was killed off, it was obvious that it was deliberately lit. Some asshole had lit a fire that had injured children.

Virgil was glad he had been called in because he had managed to save those children. A school group had been trapped and it had taken Virgil’s exo-suit to get them out. There were burns, tears and screaming, but they were all alive.

And the fire was out.

God, he was hot.

He didn’t have his fire suit with him. It was a forty-degree Celsius day and, well, fire was hot. He was currently standing waiting to report to the fire chief. Scott had arrived halfway through the rescue and was fielding the media on the other side of the park. Scott hated the media, but he had more patience at this moment than Virgil.

More of everything.

His exo-suit was heavy.

His shoulders were aching. In fact, all his joints were aching. There had been a point there where a roof had collapsed on him, but since it was the second roof today, he shook it off.

He just wanted to go home.

The fire chief was still talking to someone else.

He could interrupt.

“John, can we do a delayed incident report? I’m really tired.”

“Virgil?” He could hear the frown in John’s voice. It was an out of character request. Virgil was always pedantic about onsite communications in large multi-service incidents. “You okay?”

“I’m hot, tired and I haven’t had a chance to pee for the last five hours. Can I go home now?” There was an itch under his baldric that he knew he wouldn’t be able to reach. He could swear, but if he started, he didn’t think he could stop and extreme profanity wasn’t a role model thing.

“I will compile a report for the Adelaide Metropolitan Fire Service. You are officially free to go, Virgil.”

Thank god. “Great. Launch in five.”

He turned away from the huddle of fire specialists and took a step in the direction of his ‘bird. Every joint creaked.

His eyes passed a pink trailer.

Pink? His brain immediately delivered Lady Penelope as a first thought, but no, it was an ice cream truck.

Ice cream.

Cold, creamy, probably with chocolate, ice cream.

He needed ice cream.

If his sight narrowed to that pink truck, it was only because he was so hot and in need of the cool touch of iced confectionery.

Cool.

To be cool.

He was halfway there when the truck doubled. Wha-?

He stopped, his suit wheezing.

“Virgil?” John’s voice sounded worried. “Virgil, respond.”

“Uh?” He tried to raise his hand to his head, but it was trapped in the claw of his suit. It took a moment of thought to work out why.

“Virgil! I’m contacting Scott.”

Why? What for? He screwed up his eyes. God, now he was dizzy. So damned hot.

He needed some ice cream.

Ice cream.

A step and he was wobbling. He flung out an arm, attempting to keep his balance, but his arm was a giant claw and instead, it took him over.

The ground was hard.

His suit was heavy.

It hurt.

Too much.

He didn’t hear two brothers yelling his name.

-o-o-o-

Scott hated the press.

They always wanted the dirt, not the facts, the gossip, not the truth. It took everything to not explode in front of them.

“Mr Tracy, was International Rescue needed at this incident because the MFS just couldn’t meet the need?”

“International Rescue is available to assist in any extreme circumstance. This was such a circumstance and is not reflective on the efficiency of your fire service. Without your fire service many lives would have been lost today.”

“But why were you needed if the MFS could do the job?”

“An extra helping hand never hurts.”

“Thunderbird One?” John’s voice cut over the cacophony of reporters. “Thunderbird Two needs your assistance.”

The press immediately caught onto that with various versions of ‘what’s happening?’ and ‘where’s Virgil Tracy?’ popping up amongst the crowd.

He ignored them all. There was something in John’s voice.

He excused himself and, to the sound of their protests, turned away from the media and strode purposefully in the direction of the green bulk of TB2 in the distance.

“John, report.”

“Virgil...I’m not happy with his vitals. His heartrate is up, his body temperature is high and I’m not getting a very coherent response from him.”

Doing the obvious math in his head, Scott broke into a run. “Where is he?”

“He’s still wearing his suit. Approximately fifty metres at your one o’clock.” John swore. “He’s down and not responding.”

Shit.

A moment and Scott could see his brother, face down on the grass. Several people were milling around him, but no one was actually doing anything.

Scott’s grimy uniform got twin streaks of green as he slid to his knees beside his brother. “Virgil?” The exo-suit was heavy and Scott was hard put to turn him over. Virgil was pale and limp, his forehead resting against the plexiglass of his helmet. “Virgil?!”

“John, give me the numbers.”

His brother ranted off Virgil’s vitals. Overheating? Exhaustion? Hidden injury? Goddamnit, Virgil!

“Sc-t?”

Pale eyelashes were blinking ever so slowly.

“Virgil, are you injured?”

“Huh?” His brother attempted to sit up and frowned when he couldn’t. “Wha’ happen’d?” Another blink. “Hot.”

The sun was beating down on them. They needed to get into the shade. A crowd was gathering. They needed to get out of here.

“Ice cream. Wan’ ice cream.” Virgil frowned and rolled over, got his knees under him, pushed himself to his feet and wavered...

Scott leapt up and caught him before he could fall on his face again. “Virg, what the hell?”

“Want ice cream.” His eyes were glazed and it was obvious his brother wasn’t thinking straight.

“C’mon, we’ll get you back to Two and you can have as much ice cream as you like when we get home.”

“Want ice cream now.” A claw swung around and Scott had to back out of the way. Shit.

“Hey, hey, Virg, wouldn’t it be easier to get ice cream without the suit on?” The eyes of the crowd were on both of them. This could go from bad to very bad very quickly.

“Suit?”

Scott took a step closer to his brother. “C’mon, Virg, I’ll help you out.” He reached towards the suit controls, his fingers dancing over the release.

His brother gasped as the suit came free. Without the leg supports, its entire weight would be on his arms.

“Let it go, Virgil.” Scott grabbed the shoulder supports, taking some of the strain. “Let it go and we can get some ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” His brother let go.

The suit fell one way, Virgil the other. It was only some fancy footwork on Scott’s part that enabled him to catch his brother.

The crowd scampered backwards as the suit hit the ground.

Virgil groaned as Scott caught him, stumbling, attempting to stay upright and failing. Scott was hard put to keep both of them on their feet. “Virg, we need to get you into the shade.”

“Need ice cream.” He attempted to push past Scott, but nearly ended up on his face again.

Scott hung onto him. “Virgil!” His brother was heavy and his struggling didn’t help.

“Ice cream. Need to cool down.”

“We can cool you down on Two.”

“Ice cream. Please, Scott, need ice cream. Too hot.” He tried to wrench himself free, but his knees gave way, Scott stumbled and they both went down, Scott barely managing to catch his brother before he face-planted in the grass.

“God, Virg.” If this was heatstroke, which Scott was pretty sure it was, it could become life threatening.

“Sir?” An ice cream was held out, a young woman offering it.

Scott had never been more grateful for an offering in his life. “Thank you, ma’am. Virg, look, some ice cream.” He held it where his brother could see it, offering it like a parent to a distraught child.

“Ice cream?” On his hands and knees Virgil looked up hopefully, his eyes still glazed. Scott reached over, unclipped his helmet and gently tugged it off. Virgil’s eyes closed as the heat of the day touched his skin. “Sc-t?”

Virgil collapsed before Scott could catch him, slumping onto his side.

The ice cream was hurriedly passed back to the woman. “John, vitals!” Virgil’s skin was hot to the touch. Scott didn’t hesitate, hooking his hands under Virgil’s arms and dragging him into the shade of the nearest tree.

The crowd followed.

The numbers John threw at him were even worse than before. “You need one of the ambulance crews, Scott. I’m contacting them now.”

Scott couldn’t help but agree. Deft hands hurriedly started removing Virgil’s baldric and paraphernalia. By the time several paramedics reached them, he was unzipping his uniform, hurriedly yanking off the heavily padded material and exposing his black undershirt.

Efficient words were exchanged. Virgil’s boots were removed, socks, and with a further yank, his uniform pants.

The sounds of phone camera’s taking pictures hurt. “John.” He spat his brother’s name over comms almost under his breath. “Privacy protocol, fifty metre radius.”

“FAB.”

The advantages of an AI on the team were many. As Scott attended his brother, he knew Eos was all around them, slipping into phones and cameras, silently stealing away any and all photographs of their prone family member.

During all of this, Virgil did not stir at all.

The paramedics were efficient and within minutes, his brother was prepped for transport to the Royal Adelaide Hospital, little more than a kilometre away.

With a word to John to secure the Thunderbirds, Scott climbed into the back of an ambulance with his brother.

-o-o-o-

He was floating.

In ice cream.

Floating in ice cream?

He frowned. That couldn’t be right.

Could it?

His skin was cool, but not cold. Not cold enough.

Not ice cream.

He startled awake to the sounds of a busy hospital, his hands splashing in water?

“Hey, hey, Virgil, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

“Scott?” Ow, ow, ow, headache. What the hell? “What?” He squeezed his eyes shut, a hand rubbing a medicated smelling liquid onto his face. Ugh. A number of blinks as his brain came online and he realised he was floating in a tub of that same medical smelling stuff.

“I am so glad you are finally awake.”

More blinking and his eldest brother’s blue eyes came into focus. “What the hell happened?”

“Heatstroke, my dear little brother.”

Dear, little brother? His brain was just functioning enough to realise he was in shit deeper than the bath he was lying in. “What did I do?” A cough and he cleared his throat.

Scott handed him a cup with a plastic straw. “Drink. You need it.”

Short, sharp, caring but ominous. “What the hell did I do?”

“What do you remember?”

Another blink and he forced his brain back. “Work. Lots of work.”

“Would it hurt you to call in your brothers for help?”

“It was only one rescue!”

“It was five!”

“It just happened! People needed help. I helped!”

“You nearly killed yourself!”

Virgil stared at his brother. “What?”

“You overheated. You worked too hard. You know the symptoms. Why didn’t you stop?”

“I...” A frown. “I didn’t realise...”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I...” Another frown. God, his head hurt.

“Exactly.”

“Um...”

“Why do you do this, Virgil?”

He stared at his brother. Scott was scared. Shit. What did he do? “What did I do?”

His brother mirrored his frown. “Virgil?”

“I’m sorry.” Whatever he did, he was sorry to have caused that expression on his brother’s face.

“Sorry is not enough!”

“Mr Tracy!”

Virgil jumped as a woman in white appeared at the end of his...bath, and rounded on Scott. “Your brother is ill. Please save your reprimands for later.”

Virgil blinked as a series of emotions rippled across Scott’s profile before he turned back to face him. His brother didn’t acknowledge the woman, simply turning his back to her. It was so unlike Scott to be that impolite that Virgil had the urge to climb out of the bath to comfort him.

“Scott, it’s going to be okay.” He reached out a wet hand and grabbed tense fingers, gripping them as if to massage the stress away. Fluid dripped on blue uniform.

“Yes, it will. And you will take better care of yourself.”

“Okay.” A slow blink and his eyelids were hard to open again. Scott was still staring at him with those worried elder brother eyes. “Where’s my ‘bird?”

“Where you left it. John has her secured.”

“Good.” It would be so easy to just go back to sleep.

“Go back to sleep, Virgil.”

“Uh-hmm.”

“You can rest now.”

“Mmm...” A frown. “Scott?’

“Yes, Virgil?”

“Umm…can I have some ice cream?”

-o-o-o-


End file.
